By Silent Voice Say I
by Kat of Mosh Pits
Summary: A series of Oneshots, Kevin's mindset in the story Double Dork. Formerly 'Halves', now changed to fit more than one chapter.
1. Halves

Summery: In thanks and apology for the lack of update. A One-shot in the Double Dork universe. Kevin considers his answer. 

Halves

** H**alf, it's neither one thing or another. It sits directly in the middle, unassuming and alone. Half-remembered, half-mentioned, half-conscious, half-understanding, all these things leave a portion of ourselves reaching for the resolution, the ending. Without the end we are left suspended, unable to go forward nor back.

I live in a world of Halves. There is nothing in my life that is whole, half a father, portion of a friend, a fraction of myself. Sports leave me unfulfilled, always working, pushing forward, always room for improvement, never completed. Yet, they allow me a hold on the world that nothing else has. School is only a stepping stone to adulthood, where life is run by incompletes. Knowledge only leads to greater understanding of stupidity, of self-doubt. Ignorance is bliss, Knowledge is power, but what about those in the middle? Those floundering for some foot-hold in the delicate balance of the world who don't want much, only to survive, to see it through to the end? Who ever thinks about those people? Who considers us Halves?

I am not stupid, I say this to myself over and over. I know it, deep in my soul where I also know that I am not smart either. I have to work for everything, for my grades, for my sports, for my friends.

Practice, over and over, drill yourself again! Remember a glass, half a liquid inside sitting forlornly on the kitchen table, accusing you of failure, of success.

_ "Say, kid, how much milk do you think is in that glass?"  
_  
Not half empty, for that implies pessimism, of the sensation of life draining you away until all that is left if a husk of a boy. Nor half-full, which is optimism, which drops a lead weight of expectations on your shoulders, crushing you to the ground. Half.

_ "Half what?"_

Shrug. Half. A boundary of in-between that allows you to walk the line, balancing invisibly between the two. Meet expectations, don't exceed. Be the bully, be the comedy, be the act that allows you to fade into the background, your fears unnoticed.  
For really, who thinks of Halves when they have children bleeding on the carpet of self-inflicted wounds. Who stops to think of those in-between when they have the ones standing proud in the lime-light of their achievements.

Do you think of us?

_ "Out of curiosity, Kevin. How much liquid would you say is in that glass?"_

Of me?


	2. Bedtime Story

Summery/AN: Written because I needed to. Kevin's mindset, but not exact thoughts in chapter 4 of Double Dork.

**Bedtime Story**

Once upon a time, I died. It was a quiet death, never even noticed by my closest family. Perhaps that is because that despite my cold skin, silent lungs, and empty chest, I still moved among them, eating, speaking, and existing.

My feet are leaden beneath me, even as my body is pushed to the limits, straining protesting muscles to their brink, complaining that they should be resting in eternal sleep. No one ever noticed, caught up in their own small deaths, a lost husband, daughter, sister, father. All that remains is a Mother, and the puppeted corpse of a son. And a falsehood.

"_What do you care?"_ he asked me, voice like ice and eyes deadened in disappointment.

How can you care when your mouth is full of ash and your heart is a unmoving weight dragging at your chest?

Broken homes, so common now-a-days its practically a freak occurrence to have your birth parents for your whole childhood. It would be sad, if I could cried.

Empty truths, spoken so frequently that 'I love you's are thrown about as often as 'how are you's. It would be funny, if I could laugh.

Solemn steps, marching endlessly for that one existence, that one hope that It Will Be Better, that It Will Make Sense, even as your fellow soldiers fall beside you. It would mean something, if I had a voice.

Caring? What is caring in this world? In a world full of broken truths, solemn homes, and empty steps? How can you care when you cannot laugh or cry or scream and scream until your voice breaks and is silent?

Can you hear me? My chest is still, my lungs are cold, and my skin is empty. Only a hollow, vacant, shell of a boy remains. I lie upon a shelf among thousands of dolls, all slowly gone silent as their screams remained unheard.

My voice is broken.

Do you hear it?


End file.
